All names will soon be restored to their proper owners
by Ms. Fangtooth
Summary: Abducted from their timelines, hunted by a temporal assassin, young Mick Rory and Sara Lance find refuge in a very peculiar orphanage. (Set during episode 1x12: Last Refuge.)


"Why do they keep staring at us?"

Miss 'made five grand babysitting' (and wouldn't Mick like to know how _that_ worked), had muttered through clenched teeth as they stared out at the sea of wide-eyed little faces that had been staring at them since they'd gotten dropped off at this screwed up little space orphanage. Well, it actually looked like England. Or Canada. But it could be Mars for all he knew. They had gotten here in a spaceship, after all.

"I thought you were supposed to be good with kids." Mick snarked back, which, okay, wasn't fair. This was creepy children of the corn shit. "If one of them pulls out a sickle, I'm out of here."

Blondie snorted, and he thought that maybe she wasn't so bad. It wasn't like she was the first girl who'd ever slapped him. Mick would have thought that by eighteen, he'd have figured out how to talk to girls. Instead, he'd just learned to creep them out in brand new ways. His best friend would have called that progress, he'd guessed. But Len barely seemed to like girls as it was.

He might have liked Blondie though. Mick did, she was kind of cute when she was on a tear.

"I mean, we're the ones who get attacked by some lunatic with superpowers, dragged off into a freaking spaceship, and now we're like in some kind of countryside Hogwarts or something, and _they're_ staring at _us_!"

"What's a Hogwarts?" Mick asked. She gave him that famous "are you from Mars" stare that girls seemed to master the day they started looking hot, and he shrugged. He had better things to do than keep up with MTV crap.

It was weird though. These kids hadn't blinked twice at the spaceship itself. They hadn't even looked up from their tag or kickball, or whatever stupid shit that British kids play when the bearded English dude, Blondie's even hotter and scarier older sister, the big asshole that threatened Mick, and all of the other crazy people went swanning into the house carrying like three babies.

Mick didn't want to know where they got the babies.

So the kids were fine with a spaceship, but as soon as it left, then they got all quiet and squirrelly. What the hell?

"They're afraid of you." A small voice said near Mick's elbow. Blondie jumped three feet into the air. Mick hoped he looked a little cooler than that, going by the tiny smirk on the newcomer's face, he probably failed.

There was a kid standing there. Mick wasn't really good at telling ages, this one looked somewhere between Sesame Street and old-enough-for-Juvie. He was small and thin, and had a kind of hungry, hollow-eyed stare that looked like it ought to have accompanied the phrase "Please sir, can I have some more." (What? Mick did read sometimes. Well, he saw the movie at least, and this kid would totally be played by some tiny orange cat.)

"We don't get a lot of visitors who aren't Time Masters." The boy said. What the hell was a Time Master? "And they usually don't leave anyone behind. At least no one as old as you."

Mick saw Blondie choke a little at "old". Women.

"Well, we're special, I guess." She said finally. The kid looked skeptical.

"Special nothing," Mick muttered, "We were _kidnapped._ " (Not that Mick had anything to be kidnapped from, anymore, but he wasn't going to think about that right now.) His partner in captivity elbowed him, and _fuck_ she had sharp elbows. "What? Do you want me to lie to the kid?"

"You don't have to scare him." She whispered.

"I'm not afraid of you." The kid said, studying Mick in a way that was decidedly unlike a cute orange kitten. "I wouldn't let you hurt me."

Blondie, and he really should try to find out her name, she kind of looked like a Becky or a Heather, looked a little startled, but recovered quickly. Go Becky. "Well, uh, that's good to hear. My name's Sara. What's yours?"

The kid was about to answer when-

"Michael!" This time Mick was the one who jumped three feet into the air. (He hadn't been Michael in _years_.) The kid also looked alarmed, his eyes darting around like a frightened rabbit, but he relaxed when the old woman came into view. "There you are! And with our guests."

"We haven't had much chance to talk," the old woman smiled, and she was somehow creepier than all of the Children of the Corn, including Oliver Twist, put together. The kid didn't seem scared at all, though. Freak. "I am Mary Xavier. And you would be Mr. Rory and Ms. Lance, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ms. Sara Lance, who he still thought looked more like a Becky or Heather, nodded quickly. Mick just stared. Mary Xavier looked like one of those nuns who would smile nice and then, when you least expected it, out with the ruler.

"Well, I'm sure this is all a tremendous shock to you. But don't worry, very soon this will be over, and you'll be home again." Sara looked relieved. Mick was less reassured. He wasn't sure what was going to happen to him now that he didn't have a home to go back to. (Don't think about that now.) "Now, why don't I have young Michael here give you a tour?" The kid looked slightly alarmed. "Yes, you. You've been quite a handful today, Michael. And don't think I didn't count the cutlery at lunch." She held out a hand, and the kid dropped a fork into it. "I'm not going to ask what you thought you were going to do with this." She ruffled his hair gently. "Now, go be a good boy and show our guests around."

After the old woman left, Sara looked down at the kid with her eyebrows raised. "What was the fork for?"

The kid looked shifty, but didn't answer. His eyes darted to Mick's thigh though, and Mick realized that his thigh was the closest part of him in fork-reach. "You were going to stab me?!"

"Only if you tried to hurt me!" The kid protested, then frowned, sulkily. "Besides, I can't _now_. She took it away." His eyes drifted to Mick's leg again, specifically his pocket, and Mick became uncomfortably aware that he was carrying a knife. He'd forgotten about it in all of the commotion. The kid smiled at Mick and Sara, "Well, Mother did say to show you around. This way, please."

Yep, that kid was creepy.

XXXX

The kid was creepy, but he gave tours like any other kid would. Mick and Sara were dutifully introduced to the hopscotch court, the best and second best climbing trees (according to their guide, the second best tree didn't go as high, but it was easier to hide among the leaves), and the bin where the sports equipment was stored.

The sports bin was interesting because while it contained the usual sort of baseball, basketball, and soccer equipment that Mick was used to, there was a lot of really weird crap as well. There was a really flat baseball bat made for playing "cricket", whatever the hell that was, something the kid called a "quanco" for rugby, and a "pelota purepicha" ball that was already singed. Mick was a little intrigued by the last one.

The tour continued inside, and they learned where the library was, the study rooms, the plate of cookies in the parlour ("only for guests," the kid whispered as he cast the plate a covetous glance) and the pantry. "This is the snack pantry," the kid said earnestly, pointing at a smaller door next to the regular pantry. He whispered this in the tone of someone who'd discovered lost pirate treasure or his dad's porno stash or something. "If you're hungry you can come down here at any time and get something to eat. Any time that you want. No one will _ever_ get angry at you."

Finally, he showed them to their bedrooms, and of course both rooms looked like they came out of an old movie.

"Is that a wardrobe?" Sara asked, delighted, as she pulled it open and shoved her head inside.

"If there's snow and a faun, don't go further." Mick suggested and the kid giggled.

Sara pulled her head out of the wardrobe and gave him a quizzical look. "You don't know Harry Potter, but you know Narnia?"

"I went to Catholic school!" Mick protested, "They love Narnia. Jesus as a lion."

She snorted, but hey, it was true. And more interesting than the normal stuff that his folks tried to get him to read…

Sara looked up at him, then froze. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"What? Nothing, it's fine." Mick said, but he felt shaky all of a sudden, like he couldn't catch his breath. Fucking _Narnia_. Through suddenly blurry vision, he saw Sara come over to him and take him by the shoulders and lead him to the bed. Even the kid was helping, he realized, as he felt tiny hands gently pushing him at the waist.

Once he was down on the bed, Sara had pulled his shirt open and was checking his pulse. Then she looked at his face and stopped. "Oh. Okay. Not that kind of problem." She settled on the bed next to him, and took his hand. "It'll be okay. Whatever happened. It'll be okay."

"I don't...I don't know what's wrong with me." His dad probably had a list, Mick thought wryly, before remembering that his father wouldn't have any kind of list ever again. He missed his dad suddenly and his mom. He missed his house and even juvie, (it wouldn't be juvie this time, would it, he realized suddenly. This time, it'd be prison. And he deserved it.)

"Okay, well. Let's take a breather, okay? This has been a crazy day." Sara smiled at him, but her eyes were worried. "We got abducted in a space ship after all."

"Time ship," the kid corrected quietly as he came back into the room. Apparently, he'd run out just after helping Sara get Mick to the bed. Mick hadn't even seen him leave. The kid hopped onto the bed next to Mick and Sara, and shoved something small, dry and crumbly into his hand. It was one of those fancy parlour cookies. "It's good, you should eat it."

Sara received one as well and raised her eyebrows. "You're not going to get in trouble for this?"

The kid looked away and shrugged. "This is more important."

Mick's eyes and lungs started to burn. Sara and this kid (Michael, Mick corrected himself. If _Michael_ was willing to get in trouble to get him a treat, then he could at least think of him by his name), they only just met him and they were trying to help him feel better. And he so definitely didn't deserve it.

Mick didn't know how long it took him to come back out of his fugue. Sara smiled at him when she noticed, and gently pushed him off of her shoulder. She still smelled nice, but Mick wondered when that had happened and why it couldn't have happened when he was able to enjoy it. Next to them, Michael looked like he was dozing, but snapped awake once Mick moved.

"You okay?" Sara asked quietly. "You want to talk about it?"

It was nice of her to ask, but somehow Mick didn't think the truth would go over well, even if he could bring himself to say the words. "No."

"Okay. What do you want to do?"

(He wanted a lot of things, most of which had to do with flames engulfing him like they had everything else.) "I want to get out of this fucking room."

"Okay, well, that we can do." Sara said, as she stood up and stretched. "Got anything in mind?"

She appeared willing to let Mick take the lead right now, though Mick got the sense that it was only temporary.

"Let's go exploring."

XXXX

They'd already gotten the grand tour of course, but there was a difference between what a child thought was interesting and what Mick wanted to see. Trees, toys, and pantries were all well and good, but Mick was more interested in what was behind locked doors rather than out in the open.

Michael didn't seem to have a problem with Mick's plan. He didn't go running for mother, or anything like that, and instead just tagged along agreeably as Mick and Sara roamed the halls, trying doors and peering inside.

"Are you _casing_ the joint?!" Sara asked, in disbelief, as they paced around a small study. Mick gaped at her, because seriously, who talked like that?! "Sorry," she blushed. "My dad is a cop."

Mick, who had actually been studying a brass candlestick and idly wondering about its worth, rolled his eyes. Of course she was a cop's daughter. As pretty and nice as she was, she had to have some flaws. He abandoned the candlestick. He'd never been good at putting a monetary value on household goods anyway, and knowing his luck, it probably wasn't even the most valuable object in the room. He had a friend who was much better at this kind of thing, and he could just imagine Len's reaction if he realized that Mick had past up a perfectly good 14th century thingamabob for a cheap shiny candlestick.

"Well, I'm not casing anything."

Sara looked appeased and wandered over to study the paintings on the wall. It wasn't anything interesting, Mick thought. Old people in oils. The desk was pretty useless too though: stationary, a blotter, and a couple of matches that Mick swiftly pocketed. The door behind it looked pretty interesting though. He gave the handle a quick try. Locked. Crap.

Sara came over, curious. "What's in here?"

Michael, who'd been looking at a plant in the corner of the room, looked up at her question.

"I don't know," he said. "This room is for the staff, we're not allowed in here."

Mick wondered for a moment if the kid was going to tattle on them, but the kid looked just as intrigued as they did.

"I don't suppose there's a key around?" Sara wondered. Mick snickered, "under the mat?" She glowered at him. "Well, I don't know how to pick locks. Do you?"

"A little bit?" Len had tried to teach him once, but he'd always had kind of clumsy fingers. He knelt down and studied the lock: it was one of those giant keyholes that Mick had only ever seen on television. "Do you have anything I can use?"

"Sorry." Sara shook her head, and her long, straight, completely bobby-pin-less hair moved with her. Crap.

"I can do it." Michael piped up from behind them. "Wait a moment."

He ran off, and Mick had a moment to wonder if the kid was going to rat them out after all before he came back holding some long thin pieces of metal. The kid bent down to the lock and in far less time than Mick expected, the door was open, revealing what looked like an office, complete with files.

"Dad is going to have my head for contributing to the delinquency of a minor." Sara muttered, but smiled. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Michael shuffled his feet.

"Back then." He said vaguely then shrugged again. "Didn't get to do it very often though. It took too much time."

"And now you clearly have too much time on your hands." A crisp voice interrupted them as Mary Xavier walked into the room. She placed her hands on her hips. "And what is the meaning of this, children?"

"It was my fault, please don't be cross." Michael started quickly.

"Nah." Mick interrupted. "It was my idea. We were bored. I wanted to see what was inside."

"I see." Mary Xavier pursed her lips, but she actually looked more amused than angry. "Well, I suppose this is what comes of idle hands. Come along, you can help me in the nursery, and then assist with dinner."

XXXX

Mick had expected something considerably different when Mary Xavier said "nursery". Going by the look of the rest of the house, he'd expected something with bassinets and draperies and things made of lace. Instead, he found a surprisingly high tech looking room which looked like something out of science fiction.

"This is our infirmary. Now, for a time, our nursery." She raised an eyebrow at his surprise. "The babies are all newborns, Mr. Rory. They aren't ready to be exposed to all of the germs and ailments that come of a home full of children."

She led them past some reclining chairs. There was a girl sitting on one, her knee skinned and bloody. She waved at them as light bathed her injured limb, and moments later, the wound was healed.

"Whoa." Mick said, impressed. Mary Xavier smiled and led them to the back of the room, where the babies lay nestled in cribs that looked like they could have come straight out of any maternity ward. The babies really were disgustingly cute.

"Fortunately, the little ones are in very good health. But for all that certain Time Masters hate to admit it, there is no substitute for warm, nurturing human contact. So, that will be your job for the rest of the afternoon. I trust that this will keep you out of trouble."

As Mary Xavier left, regal as a queen, Mick turned to Michael. "Thanks for trying to cover for us."

Michael looked a bit uncomfortable, and turned to make faces at one of the babies instead.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what she meant," Sara laughed as she picked up one of the babies, rocking him back and forth in her arms. Mick and Michael followed her lead. Mick wondered if "helping in the nursery" included diaper duty.

He soon found out when the baby in Michael's arms, the one with the impossibly cherubic cheeks, started to fuss and take on a distinctive smell. Michael looked alarmed. "Mr. Rory. Miss Lance. I don't know what to do."

Sara stepped forward just as her own bundle started crying.

"You take care of that one, miss 'five grand babysitting'," Mick grinned at her, while she made a face at him. "The kid and I've got this one."

It had been a while since Mick had changed a diaper. "I used to help out with my friend's kid sister a while back," he explained as he opened the diaper. "It's just like riding a very disgusting bicycle. Man, kid, what did you _eat_?!"

On the plus side, Michael's expression was _priceless_. It also turned out that changing a boy involved a bit more of a projectile danger than changing a girl. But there were wipes and soap and water handy, so it worked out.

"You can stop laughing at any time." Mick grumbled to Sara, afterward.

"No, I really can't."

Mick rolled his eyes. "Ignore her. You know, kid. You don't have to call me 'Mr. Rory.' My name is Mick. Actually it's Michael, just like you."

Mick wasn't sure what made him volunteer that. He usually only ever heard "Michael" from his parents or angry probation officers.

"Oh." The kid looked concerned. "You can be Michael if you want to. People probably won't get us confused. Besides, I'm going to get a new name soon anyway."

"Nah, it's okay. Mick is fine. But what's with the new name thing?"

"We all get new names when we're old enough. So bad people can't track us down and so that we won't have too many attachments."

"That's a little creepy." Mick noted. Sara elbowed him, which impressed him because the last time he saw her she had been a crib away. That girl was like ninja fast. "Do you get to pick your new name?"

The kid nodded enthusiastically. "But you have to think very hard about it. You don't want to end up stuck with something stupid for the rest of your life."

Mick and Sara couldn't argue with that.

"So what is the stupidest Time Master name that you know of?" Sara asked, curiously.

"Well, there is someone who goes by the name of Santa Claus." Michael shook his head. "He has a really strange obsession with Northern European fauna."

"Wait! Santa Claus? Is a Time Master? The guy who goes to everyone's house and drops off presents to little kids?!"

"I don't...think so?" Michael looked perplexed. "I mean, I suppose if the Time Council ordered it, but it seems like a waste of a time ship and the energy drain from the constant use of the Fabricator would be unsustainable. He'd need about a year's recovery to get it back to full power. And then of course, he'd probably need a fairly massive supply of lactose and sucrose for the nutritional matrix. No, I can't see how that would be possible. Besides, I'm not sure why any kid would want to go near him. He was actually really scary. Has this dreadful laugh." Michael shuddered, then shook his head. "Oh well." He smiled again. "I think it's time to help with dinner."

Mick had many things that he wanted to ask, but at the same time, he had the distinct feeling that he might not be able to deal with the answers, so he and Sara quietly followed Michael to the kitchen.

XXXX

Trying to help in the kitchen turned out to be a disaster. But really, it wasn't Mick's fault that there was one of those really old fashioned gas stoves with a real fire inside next to what looked like a Star Trek replicator. The flames were just so distracting that Mick couldn't concentrate on peeling potatoes. He wondered if, by adding a few of the potato peels, the flames might burn even brighter. But the cook caught him before he could try and gently shoved all three out to the dining room.

Mary Xavier was waiting for them. She was smiling, as she always seemed to be, but there was a hint of tension around her eyes and mouth. Something was wrong.

"Hello dears. Michael, I need to speak with you."

"Hey, the kitchen thing was completely my fault." Mick said quickly. He was not going to let the kid get in trouble because he couldn't keep his stupid, _stupid_ impulses in check.

"None of you are in trouble." Mary Xavier reassured him. "Though, I think perhaps Mr. Rory, we may keep you on dishwashing duty for future meals." She smiled at him and Mick wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or not. He decided to let it go. "However, Michael, Captain Hunter has asked for our help."

"Hunter? Is that the douchebag in a trenchcoat that brought us here?" Mick asked. Sara had perked up, too.

Mary Xavier sighed deeply. "Language, please, Mr. Rory. We do have small ears listening. But yes, Captain Hunter is the man who brought you here. And he's asked for an additional favor."

"He kidnapped us!" Sara insisted. "I mean, it's very nice here, but we want to go home!"

"And you will. Captain Hunter intends a trap for the woman who attacked you, but he needs our help. More specifically, he needs your help." She directed this last to Michael, who looked surprised but then nodded.

"What kind of help can he get from a kid?" Mick asked. "Wait, you said a trap. Is he _bait_?"

"That woman almost killed me!" Sara yelped. "And he's just a kid. You can't do that!"

"Everything will be all right." Mary Xavier said, but Mick thought he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"Well, we're coming too." Mick said quickly. Sara nodded.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." Mary Xavier said gently. "You and Ms. Lance are among her primary targets. If you come with us, she will not hesitate to kill you, and this will all be for naught. M- Captain Hunter has assured me that Michael will face no real danger."

"We're supposed to believe the guy who kidnapped us?" Sara's voice rose to the point where Mick's ears almost hurt. It was kind of impressive. He only knew one other girl who could do that. "That's unacceptable."

Mick nodded in agreement.

Mary Xavier shook her head. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

She removed a small device from her pocket. It was black and rectangular and held it up. There was a flash and nothing more.

Mary Xavier watched both teenagers hit the ground with matching thumps. "Oh dear." She said regretfully. "I had hoped that wouldn't be necessary." She glanced down at Michael, as she secreted the stunner away. She knew better than to leave it out around this one and his slippery little hands. "I trust you won't take this as an example for your own future conduct." She admonished. "As a Time Captain, you will not always have the option of stunning people into compliance."

Michael nodded solemnly, as he knelt down beside his friends, his hands moving quickly as he checked on them. Finally, he seemed satisfied, and he stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. With a quick word, Mary Xavier summoned staff who would take their guests to their rooms. She and Michael had a rendezvous to keep.

XXXX

Mick usually woke up gradually, but he didn't this time. Instead, it was like someone had flipped a switch in his mind. He had been out, and now he was back, lying in a strange bed with a splitting headache.

Where the hell was he? He stared around the room until his eyes found the wardrobe, and it all flooded back. Right. Narnia. And one heck of a white witch.

He was still dressed, at least. His shoes had been removed and placed neatly beside his bed, but almost everything else was intact. His stolen matches were in his pocket. But his knife was gone. Why would someone have taken the knife and not the matches?

He decided to find Sara, but her room was empty. He saw from the window that the time ship was back in the yard. So everything must have gone okay. Peachy.

He made his way downstairs. He felt listless and out of sorts, and at first he couldn't figure out why. But then he noticed the time travellers sitting in the parlour and he understood.

The entire sequence of events: from the fire to the abduction, then this place, it had all happened so fast. It had been so surreal, that on some level, he might have just convinced himself that it was a dream. That he just had to ride it out and then he'd wake up at home in his bed, none of it having ever happened.

But it really had happened. He really had started that fire. It really had gone out of control. And he had panicked. He ran. And he'd left his family to die. Now, everything and everyone was gone. He had nothing left and it was all his fault. And everyone here, they all acted so normal. Weird, but normal. As though they weren't talking to a murderer. Sara, Michael, Mary Xavier...they wouldn't have been so nice if they knew the truth.

He wasn't sure when he'd lit the match, but there it was, hot and glowing, beautiful in front of his face. He waved it experimentally under his hand, to feel the burn, that faint hint of what they must have felt. It was almost a relief when that one asshole, the one who'd threatened him when he first got there, interrupted him. At least this was someone who actually knew what he'd done, and properly hated him for it.

Only this time there wasn't hatred. No judgment. Just a tired, cryptic assessment.

" _I spent my life hating you."_ He'd said. " _But you're just a kid_."

As though that mattered. But apparently it did, because the asshole then left him in peace.

"That guy is weird." A small voice said, before Mick could pull out another match. And he glanced over. Michael was in the doorway. He didn't look hurt. Apparently whatever happened hadn't gone too badly.

But then he caught a glimpse of the kid's eyes. The kid looked calm and quiet, but Mick got the distinct glimpse of something hot and vicious in there. Mick knew what that was like. "What happened?"

"She wanted to snuff me so I got her instead." Michael said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Mother has your knife. It needs to be cleaned."

Mick gaped at the kid. "She said there'd be no real danger."

It needed to be _cleaned_?!

"There wasn't." Michael said. "I got her first." He mimed a jabbing gesture toward Mick's thigh. "Get the leg, they go down. They go down, run for it. It's easy." It really shouldn't be, Mick thought, his stomach shifting uneasily. He looked around for Mary Xavier, or Sara, but Mary Xavier was talking to that bearded bastard, and Sara was nowhere to be seen. "What are you doing with those?" Michael asked, noticing the matches. "You shouldn't play with matches inside. It's dangerous."

"Yeah, I know. Come sit with me. When Sara comes back, we can find some cards and I'll show you how to play poker." He didn't put his arm around the kid, but he waited quietly with him, as the hot, viciousness faded from his eyes, leaving only Oliver Twist behind. The matches stayed in his pocket.

XXXX

In the end, they'd ended up staying at the Refuge for two days. It wasn't bad, over all. Sara was antsier than Mick was, but then she had people to go back to. Mick didn't. And he was maybe starting to process that now.

To his surprise, Mary Xavier actually did give him back his knife.

"Please be a bit more careful with this." She said. He started to mutter an apology but she cut him off. "It's your property. You have the right to it. But as you know, some of the children have wandering hands."

She had also made Michael give him a formal apology for taking his things. He thought it said something that the kid looked more devastated about having stolen the knife than about what he'd done with it. But then, Mick was a little fucked up as well.

They helped out in the nursery, did dishes, and hung out in the library. This place actually had Harry Potter, to Sara's delight. Mick started it, but he couldn't really bring himself to continue with it. He reached for the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe instead.

On what would end up being their last day, Mary Xavier took Mick, Sara and Michael out for a picnic lunch. The sandwiches were amazing and there was enough to fill even Mick's growing appetite. They sat, chatting about nothing in particular when the time ship sat down again.

This time, the trenchcoat guy, Hunter, was alone, and when he walked over to them, he looked like an old man: stoop shouldered and bone-tired.

"Are they ready?" He asked Mary Xavier.

She nodded curtly, but Mick could tell that she was hiding concern. "They've eaten."

"We're right here, dick." Sara muttered, and he saw the man smirk slightly in response.

"Right, of course you are. I beg your pardon, Ms. Lance." He said, the smirk fading back into that deep weariness again. "I expect you're ready to go home."

Sara was delighted, "You mean it?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not just saying that to get us to some other weird place."

"I mean it." Hunter said softly. Mary Xavier nodded, backing him up, and that reassured Sara more than anything else.

"Thank you." She said, remembering her manners. "It's been weird, but really nice."

She hugged Michael, who stiffened, then hugged back.

Mick looked awkwardly at his hosts. He wasn't really the huggy type. Or the eloquent type.

"What she said."

Michael nodded, then very quickly hugged him around the waist. He let go quickly and darted back over to Mary Xavier.

Mick looked at the kid and at Mary Xavier, then he pulled his knife out of his pocket.

"This is for you." He told a shocked Michael, before handing it to Mary Xavier. "When you need it again."

The boy looked like he was about to cry, and Mick quickly fled into the ship.

"Gideon, if you please." The trenchcoat guy said, as the hatch closed. The ship rumbled a bit and then started to move. The man then reached into a pocket and pulled out two, carefully wrapped pills. "Take these, please."

"What? Why?"

"They're amnesia pills. So that you won't remember any of this."

"No way!" Mick yelped, and Sara shook her head. "You kidnapped us, brought us to god knows where, and now you just want us to forget about it?!"

The man studied them and then nodded slowly. "I thought you might feel that way."

He put the pills back in his pocket. He didn't appear concerned.

"There was something in the sandwiches." Mick realized, and the man nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow either of you to retain any memory of this."

"What about Michael? He ate the sandwiches too." Mick said, realizing only now that Mary Xavier had not.

"He also will remember none of this." The man looked almost regretful for a moment, then started walking again.

Mick followed. "Okay, fine, if I'm not going to remember this anyway, I want to give you a piece of my mind."

Sara nodded quickly. "I've got a few things I want to get off my chest too."

The man's face changed and a faint, skittish ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "I daresay neither of you would be you if you didn't. Please proceed."

He noticed that the man backed up slightly.

"I understand why you kidnapped us. And I'm guessing that, since you're returning us there's no threat now." Sara started, and the man nodded warily. "I get that. And thank you. Even though an actual explanation would have been nice. And that girl who looked like me. She IS me, isn't she? Or who I'll be someday."

The man nodded again. "Yes, that's true."

Mick thought about the big asshole and his accusations and cryptic words, the way he reminded him of Dad, all deep voiced disapproval, and decided not to pursue that line of thought.

Sara nodded. "Okay, so, what the _hell_ were you thinking, using a _kid_ as bait for that lady who was trying to kill us?!"

The man stared at her, looking legitimately startled for the first time since he arrived. "I...what?"

"You heard her." Mick demanded. "You took a little kid to meet some psycho bitch and he had to use _my_ _knife_ to fight back. What. The. Fuck, man."

If Hunter was startled before, he looked poleaxed now. They'd reached the control room? Bridge? Whatever. There was an old fashioned study with a lot of strange objects behind them. "I...I am surprised that you care so much."

"I like that kid." Mick said. "But even if I didn't, what kind of monster uses a kid as bait?"

"I am that kind of monster." The man said, almost to himself. "But I assure you that he truly wasn't in any real danger. I have...a vested interest in keeping him safe."

Mick scoffed and turned away while Sara pressed harder. He left her to it. She hadn't learned yet that when adults decided to lie like that, everything else they said would be pretty much worthless.

He tuned their words out, hearing only Sara's high voice (quickly going back up to shrill) and their abductor's low voice in response. He turned toward the study. He might not get any answers, but he could always swipe something instead. It'd be a little petty revenge and maybe he'd even manage to grab something worth actual money.

Unfortunately, everything that he saw just seemed to be old junk that he'd have no way to sell or even value. Even Len would have a hard time with this crap, he thought. And then something caught his eye, and he held his breath. There, on the desk, sitting amidst a bunch of loose papers was _his_ knife.

"Mother gave it to me when I left the Refuge." The Captain said quietly from behind him. There was no sign of Sara. Mick guessed she'd stormed off in frustration and anger. "I never knew where it came from."

Mick turned around. "That's my knife."

"Yes, I think it must be." The man nodded, gazing at the knife rather than Mick himself. "Do you want it back?"

Mick studied the man, looking for any sign of Oliver Twist in his face. He wanted to say he didn't see anything, but it was all right there in the thin face and hungry hollow eyes. He'd grown a hell of a nose though. Mick felt a dull surge of disappointment. He hadn't really thought about Michael's future, but he would have wanted him to grow up happy. This man clearly hadn't. He just looked sick, tired, and miserable.

But then, maybe that's just how life was. Sara would be going home to her family, and he'd be going home to rubble.

"No. I gave it to you. You should keep it." Mick said, finally. "So, your name is Hunter?"

"Rip Hunter."

"I thought you said you didn't want to be stuck with a stupid name for the rest of your life." Mick blurted, and Hunter actually snorted.

"There are worse names." He said finally. And Mick remembered Santa Claus. He didn't ask if that was true. He got the feeling this man would tell him, and he wasn't in the mood for more disappointment.

"So I'm not going to remember any of this."

"No, I'm afraid not." Hunter said. And Mick could feel the weight of the years behind that statement.

"So...you know me later on, don't you?" He asked, and saw Hunter wince. "Oh god. That bad?"

"No." Hunter said finally. "No. You...you are and will be a better man than you know. And we will never quite give you the credit or recognition that you deserve for it."

"You're only saying that now because you know I won't remember it." Mick said, feeling suddenly drowsy.

"Yes, but also because I never said it when it might have actually mattered." Hunter whispered even as Mick's eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep.

Rip watched young Mick crumple to the ground with a very odd sense of deja vu.

"Captain, Ms. Lance is likewise unconscious: the sedatory effect should last three hours."

"More than enough time to get them home." And then, it would be time to resume his quest, alone.

XXXX

Epilogue:

Rip had been pouring over his notes and Gideon's records, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the time anomaly that apparently sat outside of Elis, Greece in 300 B.C. Rip truly hoped that they would not end up running into Pyrrho, whose tendency toward inactivity was somewhat irritating at best. But knowing his luck, they not only would, but the philosopher would end up disclosing some truly embarrassing stories about their last meeting.

"You got a minute?" Mick Rory's gravelly rumble interrupted his thoughts. Rip was surprised. Of all of the crew, Mick was least likely to appear spontaneously in his study. At least not unless he brought out the hard liquor.

"Of course, Mr. Rory. What can I do for you?" He motioned to a chair and waited for the man to sit.

"Thought we should talk." Mick said. Rip braced himself, but Mick looked less angry than nervous. He actually looked like he might bolt. "Might not have been a good idea."

Rip was quite curious now. He still wasn't used to the idea that a crewmember might actually want to talk without airing grievances or expressing misaimed concern (he was eating and sleeping quite well, thank you, Martin), but this was clearly of some importance. "Please, Mr. Rory, I'm here to listen."

"Okay, well. Don't know how much you know about the whole Time Master brainwashing thing." He gestured toward his head, and Rip winced, remembering all that the man had been through. And his role in it.

"I am sure this isn't much consolation, Mr. Rory, but I would never have countenanced such a thing had I known…"

"Yeah, yeah." Mick brushed off his attempt at an apology. "I know. You're a dick, but you're not that kind of a dick." The certainty by which he'd said it made Rip feel as though he'd been offered a strange sort of absolution. He kept quiet to allow the man to continue. "It's just, y'know, afterward. When things straighten out in your head, you remember everything. Even things that you didn't know you forgot."

"And what have you remembered?" He couldn't imagine where Mick was going with this.

"I remember...Narnia." Before Rip could do more than inwardly quail at the idea of a Mick Rory who had lost his grip on reality to the point in which he believed that a children's book series was real, Mick continued. "I remember being eighteen years old, watching my folks' house burn, and getting taken away somewhere else."

"I remember the old lady. Sara. And a really annoying little kid."

He gave Rip a pointed glance, though Rip had heard harsher descriptors of the child he used to be.

"You didn't say anything while we were there." But then time travel could be peculiar that way. Rip still wasn't sure what exactly Martin remembered from the time they had met his younger self either.

"It wasn't really clear until that bastard Declan had his second go at me." Mick shrugged. "Guess my lecture didn't stick."

Rip was confused for a moment, before he remembered Mick's attempt at reforming his younger self.

"It rarely does. He had to make his own mistakes."

"Yeah, I guess so." Mick was studying him and Rip tried not to shift uncomfortably under that stare. "You still got the knife?"

"I do." It had been unnerving to realize where exactly the knife had come from. But he'd already had it so long by then, that the origin was less relevant. Or so he had tried to convince himself. He had never wanted to think of it as a true-meant gift from the crewman he had most failed (at least of those still alive), Rip knew he never earned that kind of regard. "Do you want it back?"

"Nah. Did you at least use it against Savage?"

"Sadly, no. Ms. Saunders had that well-deserved honor." He remembered, relished again the look on the monster's face when her blade slid home. He might have failed where it mattered, but he still had that moment. "I got to twist it afterwards, though."

Mick nodded. "So you really don't remember meeting me or Sara back then?"

"No. It would have been far too much of a risk to allow me to keep those memories. Heavens know what I might have told, to whom." His mind drifted to Magister Druce for a moment, to the years of trust and mentorship, and he tried to hide a shudder..

Mick's eyes narrowed, and Rip feared that he had caught the movement. Mick Rory was, Rip had been forced to realize, much more observant when it came to human nature than anyone appreciated. Rip waited for the inevitable mockery.

"So you don't remember me teaching you how to change a diaper?" He said, instead, and Rip was so relieved that he'd almost missed what Mick had actually said.

"Dear lord," Rip stared at him, appalled.

" _Snart's_ diaper." Mick elaborated with some, sadistic glee.

"You're not serious." But then, he had taken to Jonas's diaper duties with surprising ease for a man who'd had no experience with children. Miranda had been impressed. "I am afraid to ask for any more details."

Mick grinned. "Hah, yeah. You'd never know if what I told you was the truth either."

"I never would." Rip agreed, horrified and fascinated with equal measure. He was sure that Mother wouldn't have allowed them to get up to too much mischief, but heavens knew what else that might have entailed when it came to a young Mick Rory and the hellion that he himself had been at that age.

"You weren't a bad kid, y'know." Mick said, finally. "I actually kind of liked you."

"You defended me…to me." He remembered, thinking about how indignant young Mick Rory had been when he'd taken him home. "I should thank you for that."

"Yeah well. I remember what you said to me about me then too." Time travel did have a tendency to make one's sentences a bit garbled, Rip mused, while parsing through the statement. Ah. Yes.

"Well, I hadn't thought you'd remember it." He murmured. "Or, I assure you, I'd never have said it."

Even though it had been the truth.

"Yeah, I know." Mick actually chuckled. "But...thanks." He stood up. "You should get some sleep. You look like hell."

"Eventually." Rip watched him leave, then turned back to his notes, but he thought, instead, about Narnia.


End file.
